Garden of Phantomhive
by NickeltheRed
Summary: In the beginning, there was Adam, Eve, and the devil...but even though Adam came first, it was Eve who tasted the forbidden fruit. {Sebastian/Elizabeth dark oneshot; with Ciel caught somewhere in the middle}.


**I own nothing. All rights to go Yana. Clearly.**

 **So...uh, I wrote this in...like, ten minutes one night. It doesn't have a thorough plot and it's a bit angsty and twisted. Therefore, precede with caution.**

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 _"Beware the dark pool at the bottom of our hearts. In its icy, black depths dwell strange and twisted creatures it is best not to disturb."_

 **-** Sue Grafton

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 **#**

Long before this, he had been an esteemed demon, as far as demons go.

He has the Black Plague epidemic to put on his record after all.

He's a reckless spirit, red eyes aflame and big black wings that beat like a whirlwind. He doesn't bend easily to others unless the prize is too great for him to ignore.

Though through virgin blood being spilt over an alter, he was summoned to the upper domains of the earth...and now, in the Phantomhive Manor he stays.

 _"Sebastian!"_ his Young Master beckons with aggravation. _"What is taking you?"_

He clenches his teeth.

Held in the palm of a mere _child_.

 _ **.**_

More time passes, and some days the demon forgets just how _docile_ he's become. He often forgets his own one true name and the power it comes with.

The Contract leaves his thoughts skewed about the human race a little more each time he walks out that front door.

"...Say, Sebastian...I was wondering?"

He looks down to gaze upon the singular delicate face which highly resembles an angel's. Yellow curls, Cherub lips, and bright green eyes. "Yes?"

"Do you have anything to be thankful for?"

But, in the end—of all people—it's actually _she_ who pulls him back. Her presence pokes the demon awake once more because her inner light reminds him of what he is.

(Elizabeth's a curious soul. Daughter of the Sun. She doesn't fear him and although she should, she never has.)

She wets her lips, waiting for his response.

"Today, I thank you for your kindness, Lady Elizabeth," he offers her, rather politely in spite of that certain _darkness_ festering and stirring deep below. He bows to her as she descends the staircase by herself. She must go see Nina presently to be fit for her wedding gown.

"Of course," she says, then, her mood shifts. "But something tells me it is not kindness that truly satisfies you."

Towards her back, he stares, blinks, then _grins_ , pearly fangs all aligned.

 _ **.**_

Christmas at Phantomhive Manor feels...misplaced. It feels unwanted, and a bit mocking, as though it's really not meant to be taken too seriously here.

Francis, however, does not waver. She just stands tall and resolute off to the side, watching the dancers continue their waltz. Elizabeth only smiles partway when Edward whirls her around under his arm. And soon, Ciel comes to pause beside her. "...This is quite the festive celebration you've arranged for us this year, Phantomhive," Francis declares. Nothing more, nothing less.

Ciel's smirking at her now and his following tone is anything but humorous. It strikes a nerve. "Has nothing here tonight reached your utmost approval, Aunt Francis?"

"What happened to you, Ciel?" Suddenly, like a candle blown out by the wind, Francis does breathe out in defeat. Her eyes soften. They're glazed over with pity, for him, for her dead brother. "You were such a kind, gentle child. You were someone Elizabeth could love. Once."

He scoffs. "What, she doesn't love her husband?"

"Does she really seem all that happy to you, boy?"

From behind them, Sebastian's left pondering mortal nature all over again as his gaze falls on Elizabeth's rustling gown.

 _ **.**_

"Countess."

Elizabeth filches at the sound of him shifting nearby and she turns sharply in her seat, sending the opened bottle of rum sitting there on the desk crashing down. The lost liquor runs freely over the floorboards. She didn't even see him approaching because he's so...dark! He blended right in! A black like a crow hidden in its nest, black like a shadow against the night sky. Black means death, black means he's ominous.

What made him even think she honestly _enjoyed_ being around him in the first place?

She mustered all the resentment she could spare and narrowed her eyes at him, her mind swimming with useless words. "How'd you find me here? This is a _private_ library, you realize."

"I have my skills just as much as the next butler does, Countess."

"Well, either way, Father wouldn't appreciate you barging in like this."

"The Master will worry about you, Countess, while you go off exploring," he continues with the smallest hint of contempt. Stepping closer, he stops alongside her and overlooks the spillage currently staining the bottom of his polished shoes. "He's your husband."

"I don't _have_ him!" His last remark provokes her drunken self to shoot up to her feet. The chair goes flying back and tips over. She sweeps the paperwork she has completed reading off the wooden surface, annoyed. That too hits the floor, soaking up the rum. "If I can't have him, he can't have me either! That's final! This union was meant to stand on love and understanding, not winning or losing ownership."

He only smiled in return. "I can see the drink does not make an exception for you. It turns you into a raving buccaneer as it does with sailors at sea."

"Are you saying I can't hold my rum? I'm not...extremely drunk." She suppressed a hiccup. "I know where I am, and I can remember how I got here and...what my name is."

"I'm saying you change. You can't hold up your defenses when you're like this. Everything you've been locking up inside, it all comes pouring out now."

Elizabeth huffs, strutting past him to shove her forgotten books back into their rightful place one at a time. "You're nothing but a servant! You shouldn't even be spying on me, Sebastian!"

"The Master did not know where you've been all night. For all he knows, you are dead and gone, lying cold on a riverbank someplace."

"He's not so worried." She debates coolly. "If he was, he would have been out looking himself, I know it. He wouldn't have sent you out _before._ That's a sign someone actually cares. They look themselves."

With steady, deliberate footsteps, Sebastian begins advancing on her, and as soon as she turns around again, Elizabeth saw there is very little space left between them. There isn't anywhere to run. She's trapped. She half-stumbled back into the bookcase. "And...according to that logic..," he purrs at her, "that would mean I care more about what happens to you than the Master does. How interesting."

"Except that he made you come." She released a flustered sigh. "Yes, you _did_ agree to look yourself...but..."

"But, what?"

"Would you care, Sebastian? If something had happened to me, if I were gone? Would you miss me?"

After that, he's leaning in. Oh, God. He's leaning in, so close and personal. His lips fall feather-light against her throat. "I'd hate to miss out on anything I've been overlooking."

"You love to speak in riddles, don't you?" She laughs at him then, the sound coming out more nervous than amused; but it ripples through her ribs nonetheless, and she finds herself being pressed up against him completely. It's...strange and improper, and a tad bit _enticing_ to realize there are only simple pieces of clothing separating them yet. Just a few stretches of cotton material. That's it. Otherwise, they're practically skin on skin. Elizabeth's cheeks redden, aching with anticipation. "You may never lie, Sebastian, though you never answer questions like someone else would." Her hand lifts from her side and lands along his jaw, caressing him, her fingers run through his hair briefly.

Blame it on the rum she drank, blame it on her anger with Ciel and all his accuses for why he _can't_ simmering over, or blame it on her own damn weakness in the face of temptation. Whatever it is, she's pushing on her heels and she grants him a real kiss, right on the lips.

Sebastian should recoil from her. He should scold her. He should help her sober herself up, explaining that she wasn't in her right mind. It's wrong to kiss her husband's butler. It is wrong to kiss any butler. He should know that. This isn't expected noble behavior. But somehow...Sebastian is unafraid. He does not pull away in shock. In fact, his reaction is almost predatory. He deepens the kiss, making her shriek from inside her chest when he pins her there and heaves her higher so he could stand directly between her thighs. Her hands curl at his shoulders, seeking something to hold onto, and she shifts his tie to the side from side, loosening it. Her mouth slips down inch by inch and once she found the bare slope of his neck, she actually _nips_ at him. Playfully, although hard enough to break skin. A drop of blood trails past her lips, coating her tongue, and she swallows.

They both freeze in place.

Elizabeth has not only _tasted_ it, but she _feels_ something as well...like an electric shock from one of Edwards faulty lamp wires in his room...like a spark...a light vibration on the inside of her teeth, flowing down deep.

Sebastian rips himself away from her grasp at last, chest heaving and he's gaping at her with eyes wide in...fear? No, surely not Sebastian; he knows not what real fear is.

She's seeing what is most likely...genuine surprise. As if he just didn't expect that to happen tonight. He hadn't count on it, but it happened. And now they are stuck with it.

That peculiar expression of his causes her stomach to pool with heat and suspense. It seems like she's just gotten away with something: peeking behind the magician's curtain. Peeling of the actor's mask. Opening Pandora's box. She's Eve and she's just bit into his poisoned apple.

She is half-expecting him to snap out of his trance and reach for her again to take her desperately by the hand, pleading her to run away with him—Eve and the Devil running away from Eden so they don't get caught by Adam, or by God.

He doesn't say anything more.

She understands, though. She has doomed herself.

 **.**

Chocolate is unbelievably stale in her mouth.

Fruit turns to ash.

Meat rots and she cannot taste that pleasing smoky crisp of it.

She is cursed. She is hungry, starving, famished. But she's not yearning for stew, not for pie, or milk, or eggs, or cherries.

She craves for something...real...something _live_.

Ever since her scandalous night with the butler has occurred, all she can think is how his blood had dripped onto her tongue, so sweetly, so delicate, so revealing.

She wants more.

 **.**

These days, they say Countess Elizabeth is going mad.

They say that she's under a spell. She's _bewitched_. Or that she is possibly a witch herself since they just don't understand why she's wearing so much grey, so much blue, then just _black_. Or why she heavily lines her lashes every morning with the dark kohl the Indian Prince had given her, or why she glosses her lips a deep shade of red now rather than a tone which would be more proper, or neutral.

They say a lot of things. They say the green of her eyes is no longer inviting. Her gaze is hard and cunning. Chilling. She never simply looks at anyone anymore, she looks through them.

The servants all shake their heads as they pass by her in the corridor, murmuring how she's not the gentle porcelain-doll lass they remember most.

She's now a raging sea that will swallow enemies whole. She's a storm encased with skin.

Sebastian watches from afar, yet just close enough, he always lingers.

 **.**

So, their story at this point has unfolded in such a way...that it actually makes a full circle.

1\. This is how the little girl became a Lady:

She forced herself to sing and to smile even though her heart was breaking underneath. She allowed herself to be judged and underestimated by those twice her size in order to look meek, fragile, and helpless as they all thought she was. She overlooked the bad things and instead obsessed about ribbons, and lace, and shining shoes, and adorable parasols. She ignored that she could fence at an expert warrior's level. She was sweet, sugary, and everything nice.

2\. This is how that Lady became Countess:

She married the one so dear to her, to the only boy she ever wanted to protect with all her might. To the boy who in return had this silly habit of keeping a measured distance from her. He hurt her more than he did please her. But, apart from that, it was their titles society knew them by which had gifted her that extra strength to move forward with her head held high. She would not crack for their benefit. She would not crumble. She was _Countess,_ the Watch Dog's Wife.

3\. This is how the Countess becomes the beast in this fairytale, and how the butler becomes her meal:

Covered in shadows, she straddles his hips upon the settee; she bucks her thighs against him ever so slightly, teasingly. She drags the dagger's blade clutched in her fist across the veins of his neck, and leans in fully, kissing the wound before it can heal. Then, she's feeding herself, drinking deeply.

He fills her, by blood and by essence, and each time, he becomes more aware of her pulse now beating...with a little trace of himself somewhere inside her too.

She's already at a ravenous stage and drowns in the flavor of him, and at this point, there is no turning back.

They shall share the same Hell.

She swallows again and again. Always wanting more, more, more, more. His blood is the key to life. Blood is life, it's secret and sacred.

 **.**

He feeds her out of obligation, mainly to keep up appearances before she'll explode and attack him in front of the others, blinded by starvation. His darkness churns her gut and sets hot ice shooting through her bones. He can't hide from her; they are nearly one, and she always knows where he is.

She grows hollow, her heart shrivels down to the core as her own soul eats away at itself.

She's practically _meowing_ in his ear while her fingers toy with his hair. She seduces him a regular basis now and he plays with her too—because as it happens—he's nowhere near sainthood. He's not moral, or a preacher, or a martyr.

When she finally retracts, getting her satisfying fill of his blood, her eyes change as they flutter upwards, going from regular bright green to a solid, milky black.

She's gone. Elizabeth is dead. She's still not a demon either, because that's not her nature.

She's something else. She's corrupted. She's a creature, a walking shell, a human without her soul.

His very own creation.

 **.**

Ciel feasts on cooked bird that evening while his knife carves into the soft steaming flesh.

Elizabeth pretends to eat the bird too, pretends to like meat still, pretends to be Ciel's _real_ Lizzy.

But, later that night, Sebastian will take her, have her half naked, pressed down in between him and his bedsheets, and she'll feel waves of forbidden pleasure that would get her banned from the Garden of Eden. She'll feed on his magic blood, only strengthening their mystical bond as demon and his beastling.

 **.**

And upon the day Sebastian is the one ready to feed, _she_ knows it's happening too.

She steps into the room and watches, foretelling that the end has come, and Ciel seems surprised to hear it. He is about deny her, _"No. Lizzy, you don't understand...,"_ however, Sebastian turns him around, grabbing his face in both hands, tenderly, silently, reassuringly, in order to quiet him down. For Ciel, it almost...feels like a lover's embrace. _Almost._ But somehow it's much more intense. The butler's fingers are swift as ever when they remove the eyepatch and he hands it over to Elizabeth to hold. She obeys without one more sound and keeps observing, not even blinking before Sebastian's hungry mouth makes contact with Ciel's. The boy winces against him. There's soon a sharp ping of _something_ inside. It rises within him, up his ribs, up his throat...and Sebastian breaks the connection, pulling back to suck in a strange bright silvery mist that's escaping Ciel.

Ciel's gaze is heavy, then foggy. He grows too cold and too frail to stand on his own will any longer.

It's the kiss of death, the final hour, a demon savoring his meal.

After another moment or two, Ciel's vacant corpse falls with a distinct _thump!_ upon the marble like a used washrag; and when Elizabeth raises her head to look back up at the freed butler, her eyes are solid black again. Her colored lips part into a wide, pleased smile because he's now empowered with a brand new energy, and she can feel it radiating from him, coursing through their bond.

He stares back at her, his fledgling, his own Frankenstein's Monster to his Doctor Victor.

She claps her hands and laughs with sheer twisted glee while she means to applaud him for a good performance well done. Then she's leaping towards him, stepping over Ciel's body, arms reaching out, and on instinct Sebastian catches her, hoisting her up. She kisses him, legs folding around his waist and he spins her towards the master bed.

Now they'll claw and bite at each other's skin and clothing, all in lust and celebration, growing animalistic and intoxicated by the effects of Ciel's soul pulsating through them both.

"To think the Black Plague itself...," she pants into his ear as he grazes his sharp teeth down her bare shoulder, unraveling her corset. "...was held in the palm of a mere child!"

She's the one who's saying these things, but they were all his words, his own thoughts coming alive, echoing out and voicing themselves through her.

And it was the most beautiful sound he's ever heard.

 **#**


End file.
